


Priorities

by Decipher (Straggler)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because of course he does, Gen, Hank Anderson Swears, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Game, Post-Pacifist, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24978418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straggler/pseuds/Decipher
Summary: Connor wakes and finds his world filled with static and an array of error messages. He runs through his memory banks and his last memory is timestamped at 10:54PM, 11th November 2038; Hank shot him.(This story was written with the assumption that Markus was able to win public opinions with his peaceful demonstrations but without the numbers that Connor brings for the best possible ending.)
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 75





	Priorities

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in so long. I also don't know how to tag stories anymore. My gosh, everything is so confusing. This isn't beta-read by anyone else either but I did a lot of proofreading to make sure I got at least 95% of it. If I miss anything else...then...eh?
> 
> Enjoy the story anyway!

**REBOOT**

**SYSTEMS INITIALIZING...**

Connor wakes and finds his world filled with static and an array of error messages. It takes 3.7 seconds for the static in his optics to settle but the messages persist. He is looking up at the dark night sky, low hanging clouds threatening rain. He estimates a 43% chance of a downpour based on the moisture in the air, the humidity he feels on his exposed skin and almost correlates it with weather reports before he dismisses it as a non priority. He runs his self-diagnostics program across his systems and finds that one biocomponent is damaged, the bullet dangerously close to his thirium pump, as well as sub-optimal thirium levels. The damaged biocomponent can be self-repaired with time but replenishing the low thirium takes higher precedence. He runs through his memory banks and his last memory is timestamped at 10:54PM, 11th November 2038; Hank shot him. He runs through his self-scan again and comes to the conclusion his high stress level and the damage sustained to his body forced him into temporary shutdown. 

His internal clock tells him it is 2:09AM, 13th November 2038, he has been shut down for approximately 27 hours and 15 minutes. He sits up from his position on the muddy ground and feels the bullet scraping the insides of his chassis. Another scan tells him he cannot extract it without losing more thirium in the process and at this point in time, he cannot afford to lose more until he relocates himself to a safer place. He can see the CyberLife tower looming in the distance, pale lights and the brightest thing in the sky. He is approximately 2.3 miles away in the CyberLife scrap yard where decommissioned androids are sent to be recycled and reused. There are no humans nearby that he can sense and he surmises the recycling center has been temporarily abandoned due to the city-wide evacuation. He doesn't know how he got here but decides it doesn't matter.

Connor goes through the news events of the last 27 hours and finds that while Markus was successful in his attempts to garner some modicum of peace for the androids, their lack of numbers meant that they were unable to attain a more favorable outcome; he failed his mission. He re-watches the news feed and sees that at 11:53PM, 11th November 2038, President Warren called for the military to fall back on hostilities but their presence was still numerous within Detroit.

He does not know what happened to the other Connor, what he did once he completed his mission, nor does he know what happened to Hank upon his deactivation. He attempts to make contact with Markus and lets out a deep breath when it connects through the long distance. The signal feels weak and filled with static.

_Markus?_

_Connor!_

_I failed. I was so close but I failed anyway._

_When we saw the other Connor we assumed..._

A long pause.

_It doesn't matter. You're alive._

Connor shakes his head at the relief in Markus' voice despite his failure. He feels...he doesn't know what he feels.

_What is your situation?_

_Not great but not bad, either. There's been a ceasefire of sorts for now. I assume you know of the military callback?_

_They're not called back, they're on standby._

_Public opinion is in our favor. President Warren cannot, in good conscience, call for our destruction without receiving negative opinions over her decisions. The consequences will shake the whole of America, possibly the whole world. They cannot afford public strife._

_What are your plans?_

_For now, you should leave Detroit while you can. Things are too shaky as it is. We need to stabilize the situation before we can move forward in a more positive manner._

Connor is silent as he processes his words and feels...something.

_You want me to run away?_

_Regroup and recover. Canada is sympathetic towards androids, they are the closest thing to resembling a safe haven at this point in time._

_You want me to run away._

Markus is quiet for a moment but calm as he speaks to Connor.

_This is not a surrender. We just need to be patient._

Connor breathes through his nose as he forces himself to his feet. His joints feel stiff; there's not enough thirium to keep him as limber as he used to be, but it's enough for now. He tears off his jacket and throws it onto the muddy ground and swiftly pulls off his tie to join the jacket. His button-up is dirtied from a combination of mud, drain water, rust and thirium both old and new. He finds a small piece of dirtied plastic on the ground, 3mm in thickness, 6mm in width but no longer than the length of his finger, and uses it to pull out the LED from the side of his head. It lands on the ground beside him, next to the jacket and the tie. His skin covers the place where the LED used to be and he begins to move out of the recycling center. He needs to remain covert; CyberLife is too close for him to become careless.

_I understand._

_Stay safe, Connor._

_Good luck._

The signal to Markus cuts off as he spots a small building, the control room for the machinery within the property. The lights are off. The doors are sealed and he raises his hand to the pad, the skin retracting, but stops before he touches it. He decides to find another way inside. One window is left slightly ajar and he scans the room inside to see a locker room, kitchen and break room combined together. There's a door leading into another part of the building but he can already see the items he needs to become less noticeable; a dark jacket hanging off one of the plastic chairs and a black hat on top of one of the lockers. He makes his way inside, tracking mud and dirt water behind him and grabs the jacket, slipping it on and taking the hat from on top of the locker in one quick movement. He spends less than 8 seconds on the property before he's out the window again.

Connor attempts to call Hank but none of them go through. A quick search of the police station records reveals to him that Lieutenant Hank Anderson formerly resigned as of 7:24AM, 12th November 2038. His need to find Hank is placed on the top of his priority list, above self-repair, replenishing thirium loss and leaving Detroit.

It is now 2:17AM, 13th November 2038. By his estimation, it will take him approximately 1 hour and 37 minutes to make his way to Hank's residence. If he runs then he can cut that time by more than half but with the damage done to his body and his low thirium he is unsure if can maintain the pace needed to get to Hank's house in a timely manner.

He feels he is running out of time. He doesn't know if he's already too late.

He jogs for 18 minutes, his knee and hip joints beginning to grind uncomfortably, before he comes into a more sparsely populated area and finds his third option; there are vehicles parked along the street and he makes his way for one of them. He scans and sees that all of them are automated vehicles, easy enough to take control of but as raises his hand to the window he pauses once more. He cannot override the vehicle without leaving traces of himself behind. It would be unwise to proceed but he is running out of time and his thirium level is getting lower and lower the more he agitates his body. He can feel something scraping together and grinding inside his chest.

Connor turns around and scans his surroundings again, hoping to find another mode of transportation, anything that would be better than walking or jogging or running. A quick search down the street reveals to him a skateboard with a broken wheel, a kick scooter and a bicycle that's lying on its side on the front porch of a moderately well-kept house. One of the wheels requires more air, the bike chain is rusted, the handles are wrapped in duct tape as are the pedals. It's in need of repairs but it's serviceable for what Connor needs.

It takes him 11 minutes and 36 seconds to cycle to Hank's house, the wheels squeaking with every rotation, grinding and grinding in protest like how he feels his insides must be right now and it is 2:49AM, 13th November 2038 by the time he arrives. The lights are on but they might not mean anything. He drags the bicycle to the side of the house, the chain sqealing in protest and grating on his audio processor, looking through the windows as he passes them but doesn't see Hank anywhere. He abandons the bike on the ground near the covered up broken window and contemplates forcing entry again when he hears the sound of a gun safety being clicked off. 

'What, you decide to come back and finish off the loose end? Should've waited for another hour; I would've done it for you.'

'Hank,' he turns and he can smell the alcohol on him. The hand on the gun is shaky and his eyes are bloodshot, his skin is paler than usual and it highlights the deep shadows on his face. A scan tells Connor his heart rate is an average of 153 beats per minute and steadily climbing. The past 28 hours have not been kind to the lieutenant and he regrets that he had any part of it. He eyes down the barrel and he can feel the bullet still inside his body, his thirium is dangerously low. 'I would prefer not to be shot at again.'

There's the smallest dip in the gun, it's now pointed to where his nose is rather than his forehead and he shifts his eyes away from the gun to stare at the frown on the man's face. His beard is unkempt and he doesn't smell as if he's showered or performed any sort of personal hygiene in perhaps 30 hours.

'Where did I shoot you.'

Connor closes his mouth with a click as he looks away. He doesn't want Hank to see the damage done to him but he knows that he has no choice if he is to prove his identity to him. When he looks back at Hank the gun is back to aiming at his forehead. He breathes through his nose as he carefully and slowly unzips the jacket, revealing the dirtied shirt. The blue bloodstains are still there, mixed with storm water and mud, but with it being night he doubts Hank can see any of it. He unbuttons his shirt and reveals the bullet hole in his body where the plastic is gaping, still occasionally leaking thirium. His self-repairs module has been hindered from his constant movements, it's now become a top priority next to his need to replenish his thirium levels.

Hank's hand begin to shake even more as it lowers until it's pointed at the grass beneath their feet and he lets out a shaky breath as he says, 'I thought I fucking killed you,' he sounds as if he's going into shock, 'I fucking ruined your life.'

'No--' he steps towards him but his knees buckle beneath him, error messages coming back to the forefront of his mind and he hears Hank swear and curse as he catches him. He needs to either go into stasis to allow his body to self-repair or temporarily solder up the wound and ingest more thirium to make up for the loss. He knows Hank doesn't have any thirium in the house.

'Fuck, we needa get inside.'

Hank seems remarkably sober now even though he still smells as though he was doused in alcohol as they make their way around to the front of the house. Connor is roughly pulled through the partially open door and one foot catches a little on the threshold, making them stumble inside like drunkards. The door is kicked shut behind them and the sound wakes up the saint bernard, his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out as he gets up from his place on the couch and lumbers his way towards them. Hank unceremoniously drops him on the vacant spot and turns back to the door, locking it and sliding the deadbolt across for good measure even though Connor knows not much can deter a person from entering if they were determined enough.

'What do you need?' Hank asks as he checks the safety back on before he puts the gun down on the coffee table and helps keep Connor upright when he lists helplessly to the side. Sumo paces around them, his tail no longer wagging from excitement before he sits on his haunches next to the couch and lays his head on the cushions, watching the both of them.

'I need to leave Detroit,' he says even though he doesn't know how he's going to manage as he is. Even if he can somehow fully self-repair, his thirium level is too low to allow him to get too far by his own power. Now that he's faced with the certainty that Hank is alive, he also finds that a new set of priorities are conflicting with older ones.

He cannot stay in Detroit but Hank is in Detroit, therefore he cannot leave Detroit.

'Not like this you're not,' Hank grumbles as he shakes his head and forces Connor to lie on the couch. He's going to get it dirty if he hasn't already but he finds that he is unable to fight the firm pressure on his sternum just inches away from the bullet hole in his body. 'How much of your body can you self-repair or do you need an actual technician,' he asks as he takes off the hat Connor is wearing and places it in the middle of the table.

'I can self-repair all of it. I just need time and rest,' he pauses when Hank pulls up his feet onto the couch as well even though he's too long to lie on it fully straight. The change in position makes his insides feel as if he's being grated to pieces and he sees another error crowding his vision. 'The bullet is still inside.'

Hank almost trips on his way to the recliner where an old blanket lies pooled on the seat and swears under his breath as he turns around and disappears into the other direction of where he'd intended to go. Connor follows the noises he's making, the sound of a door opening, a cupboard, a drawer, plastic on wood, scraping, rattling and it's not long before Hank is back holding a small, beat-up first aid kit. He opens it on the coffee table next to the gun and rummages around until he pulls out a pair of plastic tweezers with rubber coating on the ends of it. 'Kid, I don't think my hands are steady enough to help with this,' he says with regret in his voice as he stares down at his still shaking hands.

'It's okay, Hank,' Connor accepts the tweezers and temporarily disables his simulated breathing and closes his eyes as he opens his chestplate, his skin retracting as he does so, careful with the ragged edges around the bullet hole. He hears Hank suck in a quick breath as he makes another scan of his body. The bullet went through the edge of a biocomponent, the density enough to change the trajectory that it grazed the thirium pump regulator entirely and has lodged itself into one of the minor thirium pipe lines on the top left side of his chest, 3 inches deep, the tweezers just barely long enough to reach. Pulling it out would undoubtedly create some thirium loss, the bullet being the only thing blocking that hole at the moment but the loss should be minimal as long as he closes the pipe for the time being while he begins the self-repair.

The bullet slips from the tweezers mid-extraction and falls back inside, there's too much blue blood on the plastic. He pulls the tool back out and wipes it clean using the sleeve of his jacket. He can hear Hank's heart rate thumping quick and fast, his breath shaky.

Connor tries again.

The bullet has fallen deeper within his chassis, 4 inches inside the middle left of his torso. He has to pull open another panel to reach for it and he has to dig further in, missing it twice from the slip of the thirium coating the rubber ends before grabbing hold of it the third time. His hand doesn't shake as he extracts the foreign metal from his body but when he opens his eyes again Hank looks pale and sick, little dots of sweat gathering on his forehead.

'Well, that's not something I wanna see ever again,' Hank mutters as takes the tweezers and bullet from him so Connor can replace the missing panels and allow the skin to reactivate across his body. Hank chucks the bullet onto the lid of the first aid kit and lets out a long breath through his nose, his face turned away enough that Connor can't see the expression on his face.

With the bullet taken care of, his self-repair protocol is well underway. He can't do anything about his low thirium levels at the moment but at least that's two of his main priorities sorted.

'I can make do with two hours,' Connor says, his eyes slipping shut again. The other two priorities are flashing red in his mind but he forces himself to ignore them as he listens to Hank swear under his breath again, the sound of fabric rustling as he gets up and starts packing the first aid kit away.

Connor listens and falls into stasis to the sounds of Hank moving about the house, the clacking of nails on the wooden floor as Sumo follows after him, the soft noises the dog makes when he returns to the couch and huffs near his head, his wet breath ghosting over his face.

He wakes 1 hour and 49 minutes into his stasis to the sound of the door shutting and Hank grumbling under his breath. It is 4:52AM, 13th November 3028. The bullet hole on his chestpiece is bumpy but mostly closed, the graze on the thirium pump is gone, the biocomponent only half repaired, the minor thirium pipe is mostly mended and he is no longer at risk of losing more but his current levels are too low and he can feel it in his joints when he attempts to sit up. 

It's still dark, the only light coming from the kitchen. Sunrise is still approximately 2 hours and 23 minutes away from breaking across Detroit. From where he sits he can see Sumo lying leisurely in his dog bed but his head is attentively following Hank as the older man is attempting to clear out the fridge. 

Connor swings his legs over the cushions, pushing the blanket off him, notes that he's still wearing his shoes and has left muddy smudges on the arm rest. He looks at the coffee table and finds 3 bags of thirium 310 placed haphazardly by the edge of it closest to him. He knows Hank does not keep thirium in his house which must mean he'd gone out while Connor was in statis to buy them for him. He takes one bag, ingests the whole of it in 1 minute and 28 seconds and notes that one more outstanding priority has been taken care of, leaving just one left that needs immediate attention. Hank is still in the kitchen, muttering whether or not it's a good idea to cook some food for the road. Connor starts on the second bag of thirium and stands to see what Hank is attempting to do.

As he steps past the couch a quick scan of his environment reveals to him two duffel bags stacked on top of each other by the door along with a backpack and a box filled with Sumo's things. He continues his way into the kitchen and sees a black rubbish bag filled with takeaway boxes, empty bottles and pizza boxes that Connor recalls seeing laying around the countertops before. A quick look into the fridge that Hank has opened tells him most of the perishables have either been thrown out or consumed.

'What are you doing?' Connor asks as he tries to process what he's seeing. He can feel the new thirium circling through his body, cold and quick.

'Finish up that bag and clean up; you look like a mess,' Hank tells him as he throws out an opened can of tomato paste that looks as if it's been shoved to the back of the fridge for at least a year, 'There's spare clothes in the bathroom and a towel in there for you to use.'

Connor looks down at his clothes, at the crusted mud on his shoes, his trousers, his shirt. The blue blood has mostly evaporated but he can still see all of it smudged across the fabric and on his exposed skin. Not even the stolen jacket escaped from being dirtied. He finishes the rest of the second bag in 1 minute and 8 seconds, throws it into the black rubbish bag and proceeds into the bathroom as Hank said, shedding his jacket and draping it over the back of the couch as he passes it on the way through.

He closes the bathroom door behind him and sees himself in the mirror surrounded by colorful post-it notes. There's dirt on his face, smudged along his cheek, the underside of his jaw and along his neck. There a grayness to parts of his skin that he attributes to drain water, making him look as though he'd been dragged through sewage and all matter of filth on the way to the recycling center. His hair is in disarray and his reflection is a far cry from the put-together android he used to be. Most notable is the lack of LED on the side of his head and he keeps an eye on where it used to be as he raises a hand, his fingers gently grazing over the missing piece of him that he'd thrown away.

Connor steps back from the mirror and doesn't look at it again. It takes him 4 minutes and 13 seconds to clean up, his hair is still damp when he exits the bathroom holding the last two pieces of his old life. He drapes them on top of the stolen jacket on the back of the couch and turns to see Hank come back inside the house, the duffel bags, backpack and box missing from where it once sat next to the door.

'Come on, Sumo's already in the car,' Hank tells him as he picks up the last bag of thirium and throws it in Connor's direction who catches it easily in one hand. He picks up the hat and tosses it to Connor as well. The gun isn't on the table anymore but a scan tells him it's holstered and hidden under Hank's jacket.

'You're leaving?' Connor asks, feeling cold despite the 3 layers he's been given to wear.

Hank huffs and jerks his head out the door, ' _We're_ going to Canada. Now get a move on.'

Connor walks outside and stands next to the car as the older man locks the front door. He can hear Sumo's muffled barking in the back seat, moving excitedly and shaking the car a little with every eager twist and turn. He listens to Hank get in the car and shut the door after him but Connor finds that he cannot look away from the house and surprises himself with the thought that he will miss it.

'Connor! Get the fuck in the car!' Hank shouts at him once he's rolled down the passenger window.

He complies and barely gets the door closed before Hank is putting the car in reverse and driving off.

'Where are we going?' Connor asks after 2 minutes and 43 seconds have passed in silence, the last bag of thirium now ingested. His thirium levels still aren't 100% but he has enough. He notes that the car has a full tank of gas and he comes to the conclusion Hank has been planning for something like this since he'd gone in stasis. He feels comforted knowing that Hank is still here with him, his priorities no longer conflicting with one another.

Hank snorts, a small smile forming behind his unkempt beard. He has also showered and cleaned up while Connor had been in self-repair.

'Heard Toronto is pretty nice this time or year. Or maybe Ottawa, whatever. I'm not bothered.'

Connor calculates their travel time from Detroit. It would take 3 hours and 39 minutes to get to Toronto, or 7 hours and 25 minutes to Ottawa.

'Thank you.'

'Shut the fuck up and put your seat belt on. I needa vacation anyway. Right, Sumo?'

The dog barks from where he's lounging on the back seat as Connor drags the seat belt across his chest and clicks it into place.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I'm late to the party. Like 2 years late. Why do I always do this to myself.
> 
> I didn't play the game myself because I KNOW I'm gonna mess up those quick-time events and I would absolutely HATE MYSELF if I got Connor, Kara or Markus killed. I just watched a lot of playthroughs instead. Those videos are good for people like me.


End file.
